I Believe I Can Fly
by ilovetvalot
Summary: Sometimes solace comes in unlikely forms.


_**Author's Note: Hello, readers. Just a brief note for you all today. For those interested, we have a new challenge up at "Chit Chat on Author's Corner". Sign-ups for our theme song challenge run through May 14, 2011. The rules are simple. Tell us your favorite character about which to write, the character you'd like to receive a story about AND what you envision that character's theme song being. We think it'll be a lot of fun and hope to see all of you there! All our best!**_

_**I wrote this story to illustrate the challenge. I hope ya'll enjoy it. Song: I Believe I Can Fly by R Kelly.**_

**I Believe I Can Fly**

It was too damned quiet, Penelope Garcia thought as she sat in her lair, only the dull but ever present hum of her babies keeping her company in the long, lonely night.

Her team had disbanded for the evening, each heading in separate directions, each dealing with the overwhelming pain surrounding them in their own way.

Humans were strange that way.

Sighing as she twirled in her chair, the rational side of her brain reminded that grief had no timetable. Every person affected by Emily's sudden death would stumble and fall, some more than once, as they tried to navigate the hurdles her demise had erected on their life's journey.

The good news was that Emily's travels were complete. Her friend had made the passage from the mortal world into life everlasting and was now soaring with the angels. She didn't doubt that. She couldn't; if she did it would jeopardize every belief she'd ever had.

Some things are better left to the land of child-like faith.

But somehow, she could help wishing that they could have reached some kind of compromise with God. A win-win for all parties involved.

But it wasn't to be.

They had to overcome this. The notion that her family was going to be permanently fractured by this tragedy had been waking her in a cold sweat for over a month. At the beginning, in those first few hellish days after Em's death, she'd questioned her own ability to go on. Then, as acceptance slowly seeped into her being, it was her worry for her team that then fueled the ever-present nightmares.

On the verge of a breakdown, she'd confided her fear to an unlikely ally.

Erin Strauss.

And Penelope couldn't help but wincing as she realized that in some ways, she had been making a deal with the devil.

It had happened by accident, really. One too many drinks with an umbrella loosened her tongue at the local watering hole all the Bureau employees frequented. When the Section Chief had approached her that evening, she'd been naturally initially apprehensive. Honestly, in the hierarchy of the Bureau, she was a mere peon, hardly worthy of a second glance, even if she knew differently.

Fueled by her fruity little drink, she'd gained the courage to reply honestly when Erin Strauss had inclined her head politely and said, "Ms. Garcia. How are you?"

She known the woman hadn't expected anymore than the most cursory of replies. But instead of the politically correct, "Just fine, ma'am," she'd been expected to give, she'd chosen honesty instead.

Looking up from the pink concoction in her glass into the eyes of what was perhaps the most hardened woman she'd ever met, she'd said, "Why, I suck, ma'am. One of my best friends is dead at the hands of an MIA psycho and my team is in shambles. Thanks for asking."

In hindsight, she could recognize the look that had flashed briefly in Director Strauss' face had been anguish. It had only lasted a split second and if she'd blinked she would have missed it. But, she had seen it with her own eyes.

The dragon lady had a heart.

Who knew?

The shock had been compounded by the fact that there hadn't been any love lost between Erin Strauss and Emily Prentiss. Honestly, in her life, Emily had rarely looked upon their boss with anything other than thinly veiled contempt. It might have been because Strauss' demeanor reminded the late agent too much of her own mother. Or then, it could possibly be because in Emily's early days with the Unit, Strauss had attempted to use her as a pawn in her twisted game to rid their team of its leader, creating an atmosphere of distrust among them for far longer than was comfortable.

Either way, regret and pain were the last things Penelope had expected to see reflected in the stoic woman's eyes.

"Yes, I'd wondered how you were all fairing with Agent Prentiss' passing," Erin had murmured, her voice barely loud enough to be heard in the crowded bar. Gesturing at the empty seat across from Pen, she'd asked, "May I?"

"I'm assuming 'no' would be an inappropriate answer," she'd all but sneered, unable to control her own anger at the woman in her inebriated state.

Smiling slightly, Erin cocked her head. "Well, I'd heard you could be quite outspoken, but I've never actually experienced it for myself." Sliding into the chair, she had stared across the scarred surface of the table at Penelope. "I understand that Agent Hotchner is making the appropriate arrangements for grief counseling?"

"Yes, ma'am," Penelope had answered grudgingly, those sessions a sore subject with each member of the team. But as Hotch had told them all, it was procedure.

"Is it helping?" Strauss had asked softly.

"What do you think?" Garcia had muttered around her glass, taking another healthy swallow of the potent brew.

"I think your team has endured more loss in the past eighteen months than any I've ever overseen. And I believe you've all done an admirable job at persevering."

"Really?" Pen had asked doubtfully, arching one eyebrow.

"Yes. But like any bird that's experienced a broken wing, sometimes the animal has to be coaxed from the tree back into the air. I could push you. Or I can wait for you all to remember how to soar. Eventually though, I'm hoping you all remember how to fly."

"After everything, you think that can happen?" she'd asked the other woman bitterly.

"I do," Strauss replied as she nodded, her eyes never dropping as she met Garcia's glare.

"I don't see how that's possible, Director," Garcia had responded sadly, her mascara-covered lashes fluttering as she fought back another wave of pain.

"It's simple, Ms. Garcia," Erin replied, reaching across the table in a rare display of consolation to touch her hand lightly. "You have to believe."

And now, sitting here in her office where the silence was so loud it was deafening, Penelope wondered yet again if she had the kind of strength it would take to follow that simple instruction. Turning her head, her eyes found the framed picture of her team on the corner of her desk easily.

And she knew.

For them, she would.

_**Finis**_


End file.
